


Round

by torovoro (Diglossia)



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Belly Kink, M/M, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 03:22:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12356415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diglossia/pseuds/torovoro
Summary: He had to admit Iske had a point. The merchling had gotten a bit...round of late.





	Round

"He'll be the size of this house soon if you keep this up," Iske said to Jesper as she handed him the platter of pastries.

"Iske,” Jesper replied warmly. “Always a delight."

She glowered. Completely immune to his charms, alas. Jesper smiled roguishly and thanked her for bringing the platter up.

He let the door swing shut behind him before taking a bite of apple tart. He tried to swallow it and nearly choked.

"Iske," he called, opening the door. Iske, already halfway down the stairs, lifted her head. He swore the light died from her eyes when she looked at him. The flower girl got sweet, happy Iske. Jesper got cranky, snide Iske. Saints, the unfairness. "Would you mind bringing up some lager?"

Lager for breakfast. Iske aside, Jesper loved mercher life.

He took the platter back to his and Wylan's shared bed and shook Wylan awake. Admiring the jiggles spreading across his lover’s thick frame, he had to admit Iske had a point. The merchling had gotten a bit... _round_ of late.

The servants had been incredibly welcoming to Jesper at first. They didn't care that he was a Barrel rat any more than that he was Zemeni.

No, they didn't have a problem with him at all until Wylan started growing out of his clothes. When his little merch started becoming a substantially bigger merch, one whose clothes needed constant letting out and replacing, lest his wonderfully stretchmarked love handles and tummy burst out of their sinfully tight seams, that was when the staff decided Jesper was an enabler of the worst kind.

Which he was. Saints, was he ever. If Wylan wanted _suikerbroed_ , _banket_ , and _poffertjes_ doused in powdered sugar for breakfast, he was getting it. If he wanted _bitterballen_ to the ceiling or enough _kelewele_ to make even Jesper sneeze from all the spices, Jesper would be the one going around town ahead of time looking for the best place for them to eat. It was what you did when you loved someone and had no want of money. You found out what they liked and you made sure they got the best and the most of it.

Wylan made a soft humming noise as Jesper nibbled at the skin under his chin. It was almost a double chin. The males in the Van Eck line all had terribly gaunt faces and Wylan, at least proportionally, was the same.

"Jesper," Wylan sighed. Still asleep, then. Jesper moved to press kisses against his cheek, and forehead. Wylan squirmed. "Jesper."

Jesper toyed with the wild mop of ruddy curls atop his head. Wylan shook his curls out of reach. He sat up and looked down as Jesper settled the platter across the bit of his waist that dipped in, the silver edge disappearing under his upper belly. "Oh, you brought breakfast."

"I thought you might be peckish."

Jesper was just settling back to admire Wylan when there was a knock at the door.

He gathered the jug of lager from Iske and the broadsheet she had helpfully brought along. She gave him a dark look. He gave her a dazzling smile.

He settled back into bed and began reading to Wylan as he tucked into his breakfast.

There had been a time when Wylan had been embarrassed by his expansion. He was a mercher bred and born but Van Ecks tended towards the slimmer side and he seemed to have the idea that Jesper, who had the figure of a yearling who wouldn't take to his oats, would give two flying fucks that his bedmate wasn't also a sack of leggy bones. Preposterous and yet so very Wylan. It had taken some effort but, in time and with a lot of bedwork, he'd convinced his merchling that he could care less whether Wylan became a literal barrel and also he looked unbearably cute with round cheeks and an even rounder waist.

He poured a glass of lager and passed it to Wylan, who quickly gulped it down.

"I'll have to get Astrid to buy better pastries," he said as he filled another.

"These are fine."

"I've tasted chalk wetter than those things."

"I like them."

Jesper never understood why being rich meant you had to be more polite.

"I could get the servants to bring you something else."

Wylan's cheeks flushed. He sucked strawberry syrup from his fingers. Jesper sucked in a breath. He'd thought Wylan looked like a prince the first time he'd met him. He looked doubly so now in his flowy, white nightshirt, surrounded by fine linens, licking syrup from his fingers. "It's fine, Jesper."

He would just have to treat Wylan to a better lunch then.

"The Merchant Council has made another request for you to join," he told Wylan.

"Inej would kill me."

"Yes, she would." It would also make it harder for them to conceal Wylan's inability to read. There were rumors his manservant (i.e. Jesper) read for him but there were also rumors his manservant was a Zemeni sharpshooter, a Barrel rat, and a Grisha, and, really, how many of those could be true?

"Maybe next year."

"Maybe."

Wylan had held them off saying the same thing for two years now. They had been eager to label Van Eck deranged and replace him, thereby salvaging some of Kerch's credit and reacquiring his diminished though still solid financial backing. Wylan had not returned the sentiment quite so keenly.

The platter empty except for crumbs, Jesper swept it away. He slipped off the bed on Wylan’s side and grabbed his arms.

"Up you go, merchling. Time to get some real work done."

Wylan was heavy and solid in Jesper's grip, making a slight "oof" sound when his full tummy brushed against Jesper's much firmer stomach. Jesper kissed his cheek and told him to go brush his teeth. He laughed when Wylan swatted at him.

It was a miracle watching that ass sway. Wylan played it up, though full as he was, the slight waddle and the belly-clutching were completely unfaked.

Jesper could concede the servants had a point. Still, he knew of a dozen merchers swinging twice as much weight as Wylan around, huffing and wheezing their way around the Exchange (and if Jesper's eyes glazed over and his breath got a little short at the prospect of Wylan out of breath in Ketterdam's trading hall, that was his own little secret) and the servants never said anything about them. They never breathed a word about Nina when she came to visit or how Bajan couldn't deny Alys anything, especially her sweets. She was half again as big around six months after giving birth but _Mister Wylan's_ expansion was of some concern.

Jesper had nothing against Alys and certainly not Nina. The Van Ecks had been thin scarecrows of men ever since anyone could remember. The servants were just taking a while to get used to it. And, as far as Jesper could help it, he was keeping Wylan from noticing. Wylan was going to live his comfortable mercher life while his mother painted by the canals and his father rotted in a prison cell and Jesper would keep him in all the comfort he soundly deserved.

Wylan emerged in full mercher black, ready for a day of worker. It still astounded Jesper how such a stark ensemble could look so good on him.

"What?" Wylan asked self-consciously.

Jesper snorted. What. "You look ravishing, gorgeous."

"These are my work clothes."

"And you look marvelous in them."

Wylan took his arm. They walked towards his office. He'd digested his breakfast some and, though his stomach still pressed proudly out from between the flaps of his undone coat, the waddle was gone. Jesper mourned its loss. "What's gotten into you today?"

"It's overcast."

"I can see that."

Jesper gestured to the desk. "Only a few letters today."

"I can see that, too."

Jesper wanted to grab his plush belly, jiggle it, and say, _do you see this, too? Do you see how gorgeous you are? How distracting?_ He settled for adjusting Wylan’s necktie and letting his hand run down, fingers light on the thin fabric, all the way to his belt. "No meetings today. Nowhere to go in such gloomy weather."

Wylan's eyes widened. His cheeks burned. " _Oh_."

Jesper smirked and patted his belly. "Come on. Let's get this finished so we can have some _fun_."

He folded his hand over. Touching Wylan’s stomach was like sticking his hand into the heart of a prairie fire. It was a shot at an impossible angle that landed right where he wanted. The merchling was growing daily. His stomach was the most obvious march of progress. Every day took Wylan one step further from being a copy of his father and the gut spilling over his waistband told all of Ketterdam just how committed Wylan Van Eck was to doing so. And, every day, Jesper helped him take one step more.

They entered the office.

Jesper picked up the neat stack of letters on the desk and began rifling through them, reading the names out for Wylan to determine urgency and importance. How did you like that? A farmer's son and former criminal reading through a mercher's papers with no desire for personal gain or mischief. How the world turned.

There was an audible creak as Wylan sat down in his upholstered chair. Wylan frowned.

"That chair's old," Jesper observed. It might be. It was an enormous, crimson velvet throne of a chair Jesper couldn’t imagine Wylan’s father ever sitting in. "I’ll get you a new one." _A reinforced one._

Wylan nodded. He composed himself and brought his chair as close to the desk as he could. Jesper didn’t miss that it was a full inch farther back than last week.

Clearing his throat, Jesper started to read.


End file.
